


Tending to the Sores that Stay

by PieHeda



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Cutting, F/F, Fear, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Masturbation, Predator/Prey, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieHeda/pseuds/PieHeda
Summary: Villanelle dropped by for dinner. Neither of them can stop thinking about it.





	Tending to the Sores that Stay

After the kill, Villanelle returned to the hotel room she’d booked earlier that day, so she could clean up. In the shower, she considered going out to clubs and searching for the right type of woman. 

The woman back in Germany had been - alright. She was just alright. She was thrilled to be with a younger woman, and the “I’ve never done this kind of thing before” of it all made her a breathless, eager lover. It certainly made her game for Villanelle’s particular desires, and reckless. 

The sex was good, even.

But too easy.  _ Women trust women too much _ , she reflected. Her ignorance of any threat was, ultimately, disappointing. 

Now, on the other side of dinner with Eve, A woman like that wouldn’t do.

She could find someone and force her. 

That wasn’t usually her thing. Stalk, seduce, misdirect, deceive, these were her tools. She considered it. The fear would be delicious. But then she imagined a woman cowering and screaming, like Eve in the bathtub - no. She didn’t want that. She liked it best when Eve thought they might be equals.

* * *

_ This is normal. People have died and now evolution wants me to make babies. This is normal.  _

Eve rode Niko’s cock harder. He groaned and grasped her waist in an attempt to regain control. She placed his hand on her neck. He moved it to her shoulder and pulled her close to him, burying his face in her tits. 

She sighed, and immediately regretted it, wondering if he could hear her frustration. She wanted his hand, his mouth, on her neck. She wanted bared teeth and the prick of something sharp...

_ THIS IS NORMAL _ , she tried to internally shout the intrusive thought down.  _ There was a real threat to my life and I want to feel alive now.  _

He shuddered beneath her, and suddenly he was done. 

“Go down on me,” she said as his arms went slack. 

He frowned, his eyes shifted. “Right after I came in you?” 

She drew herself up, gathering like a storm. 

“Bastard.” She punched him in the chest, and climbed off of him. 

“Ow, hey! We can do something else…” 

“Oh, fuck off,” she growled. “I’ll sleep in my office.” 

“No, stay,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I said fuck off!” she shouted, and closed the office door behind her. 

* * *

 

Villanelle lounged on the bed after her shower, scrolling through Eve’s phone, hoping for a dirty selfie. She wished Eve had turned around when she took off the wet dress. She’d wanted to see her breasts. They looked so nice in the dress. 

Unfortunately, Eve was more cautious with her data than her password. No nudes. 

She scrolled. Photos of food: pastries, bottles of hot sauce on a grocer’s shelf, a row of sausages in a butcher’s shop. Cats. Lots of cats. Villanelle smiled. She liked cats. She liked that they don’t give a fuck about anyone.

Lots of pictures of Eve and the husband. Villanelle sighed, frustrated. Did Eve never take just regular selfies? Even that would suffice. 

A photo of Eve and the husband on a sunny day stopped her. She placed her fingers on the screen and spread them to zoom, until there was nothing but Eve’s face. 

Eve’s smile in the photo didn’t reach her eyes, and the two worry lines between her eyebrows were visible. Faking happiness. To be polite? To keep up appearances? Because smiling is the thing to do when a camera points at you?  _ Pretending, like I do, _ she thought.  _ Not as good as me, though _ . 

She tapped the edit tools and cropped the photo, so she wouldn’t have to deal with it resizing. Then she untied her lounge pants, and slouched down on the bed for a better angle. 

* * *

 

In her office, Eve paged through Villanelle’s criminal record. She stared at the mug shot. It was strange now, seeing her messy. Villanelle cared about presentation; this was clear from the clothes she sent, and that remark about her sweater. 

She wondered if it would bother Villanelle, knowing this was the only picture she had of her. 

Would it bother her to know Eve felt more like herself in the comfort of her lumpy, comfortable clothes? Was that dress how Villanelle pictured Eve? Maybe who she wished Eve was. A control tactic.  _ She doesn’t know me; she knows who she wants me to be _ . Someone younger, surely. Someone sexier. Someone who doesn’t feel awkward in those shoes, naked in that dress. 

_ You have a very nice body. _

She could hear Villanelle’s voice clearly in her head. It sent a jolt of fear through her that settled between her legs, and made her realize she’d been rubbing circles on her bare thigh with her palm.

She frowned and furrowed her brow, then stood and locked the office door. 

She tilted back slightly in her desk chair, testing to make sure it was locked so that it wouldn’t fall back suddenly. Then she placed her hand on her throat, and slid her other hand between her legs. 

_ This is normal. I could have died and my body doesn’t know the difference between an orgasm and the propagation of the species. This is normal. Right? _ she thought, as she began to touch herself. 

* * *

 

Would Eve go down on her, Villanelle wondered? She’d worn the dress, after all. She’d put on the perfume. She delicately explored her outer lips.

“It’s alright,” she said to the empty room, and practiced a harmless smile. “You don’t have to be afraid.” 

She would be afraid, though. Eve was smart. It was half of what she liked about her. The other half was that Eve didn’t fear anyone enough to put up with their bullshit. She had a particular kind of anger that even in terror, she couldn’t tamp down. 

What were the words for it? A righteous rage. 

Maybe they would fight next time; Villanelle had watched her enough to know Eve’s rage could manifest physically. Maybe Villanelle would fall, and let Eve think she was winning. That would be nice: on her back, pinned under Eve, her thick black hair falling down around her face. 

She sunk her fingers deeper into her folds.

“Yes, baby,” she mumbled. “Like that.” 

* * *

 

Eve hadn’t trimmed her nails for a while, and they were beginning to make her sore. It felt right. Niko was never rough. There had been others, men who were rough in and out of the bedroom, and Niko wanted to make sure she always knew he wasn’t like that. 

She missed the sex, sometimes. It made her feel stupid and ashamed. What kind of woman would want that when she had a gentle, caregiving man, the kind of man who cooked for her? A broken woman. A woman who couldn’t be fixed.

But sometimes, it made her wish Niko would be unrestrained. She wanted to be forced down and fucked so hard that it hurt.

Villanelle wouldn’t hold back. She would pin her, take her however she wanted.  _ That’s trauma talking, fear and arousal being too similar for you to tell them apart. Don’t think of her. It’s not about her. _

She pressed her fingertips into her neck. It wasn’t quite enough. She stopped abruptly and scrambled through the desk drawer until she found a pen knife. She leaned back again and placed it against her throat, with her fingers choked up on the blade so that only the point was exposed. She closed her eyes and remembered staring into Villanelle’s cold eyes as she pinned her to the refrigerator, with the tip of a knife against her throat.

_ It’s NOT. HER. I just want to feel real, I want to let the pain happen, and then let it go... _

She pressed the knife. 

Villanelle… she closed her eyes tight, shook her head… smelling her neck. Like being face to face with a wolf, watching it smile, waiting for it to devour her. 

She tightened her fingers on the knife, struggling to push it deeper in the smallest of movements. She gasped when it penetrated her skin, and then her hips jolted. She covered her mouth with her arm to avoid crying out, and tears fell down her face.

* * *

 

She imagined her fingers buried in Eve’s lovely dark hair. It would be delightful to submit like this, to give into her. Maybe Eve would believe for a moment that Villanelle was safe. 

Her clit throbbed so hard she could feel it against her fingers. 

“Trust me,” she whispered, “I promise, I would never hurt you.” 

She could yank her hair hard, and have her on her back in no time. Or twist her body, leverage Eve’s weight against her, apply a kick or a punch in just the right way. There were lots of methods. 

Or she could stay beneath her. Let her feel, at times, the grip of her fingertips, the sharpness of her teeth. Let her see the light in her eyes and know what burned behind them. 

Act domesticated as long as Eve never forgot that deep down, she would always be feral.

She exhaled sharply, and then relaxed, her orgasm rolling in long sighs while she grinned ecstatically.

* * *

 

In the bathroom, Eve stared at the trail of blood that ran between her breasts from her throat. She leaned close to the mirror to examine the way it rolled unpredictably until it found wrinkles to use as canals. She soaked a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol. She’d always hidden the gashes on her thighs from Niko. This would be more difficult. 

She pressed the cotton to her throat, and waited for the burn. She always waited it out until it stopped stinging, convinced that the pain was needed to cleanse the wound. 

“Fuck,” she said quietly, as she waited. “Fuck fuck fuck. This is not normal.” 

* * *

 

Villanelle pulled the bedsheets over her body and wrapped her arms around a pillow. She pressed her face against it, and thought of how good it would feel to bury her face in Eve’s hair and skin. She wanted her arms around Eve like this. Protected. Captive. 

“Goodnight, baby,” she whispered. 


End file.
